


When to Cut and Where to Run

by FireEye



Category: Final Fantasy II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: Paul lands himself in a sticky situation.





	When to Cut and Where to Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocographs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocographs/gifts).



It was the principle of the thing.

Hilda was a fine monarch.  The world certainly needed those.  And without the Wild Rose, the entire planet would have been laid to ravage and ruin.

...but... Paul was a master thief.  And proud of it.

He couldn’t simply _retire_.

Besides, it wasn’t like he’d murdered anyone.  Or tried to take over the world.  Or tried to _take over_ taking over the world.  He wasn’t a _bad_ guy; thieving was an honorable profession going back to the dawn of time.  Ever since there had been people to steal from, there had been thieves to steal from them.

In his honest and humble opinion, it was merely that the Queen was... _overreacting_.

Then again... he did love a challenge.  And it was an interesting change of pace.  Stealing from _his own house_...

Crouched on the terrace across the street, while the neighbors that owned that particular terrace were _thankfully_ away on a holiday, Paul watched the soldiers milling about outside his house.  They weren’t fools to think he would come back here, but he wasn’t going to make capturing him easy on them.

In fact, he had no plans of being captured at all.

The last glow of the sun completely disappeared from the horizon.  The moons would not rise tonight.  The stars alone were his only witness as Paul shifted in his cloak, unfurling himself along with his line. 

It wasn’t like his _life_ was in danger, here.  Fynn was a civilized country, and he and Hilda had a history regarding that little Rebellion against the Emperor matter, after all.  At most he was facing down life in prison.

 _Except_... life in prison would cramp his style, so he still had to get it right the first time around.

His grapple caught the dormer.  Paul tied off the line on this side of the street, stepped up onto the railing, and made a run across for the opposite side, silent as a shadow.  None of the soldiers on the ground noticed him; they were watching the street, and none of them looked up.

Without hesitation, he slid inside through the window he kept open.  That there were no soldiers in the attic was good news.  Meaning they hadn’t figured out how to get up there, subsequently meaning that maybe, just maybe, they hadn’t found the other hideaways he had in the house.

He crept down the secret stair to the ground floor, slipping out from behind a heavy tapestry.  There was a very serious-looking woman standing in his kitchen.  Padding quietly along the wall, Paul slipped through the secret door to his bedroom.

The room had been ransacked, and by the sound of it the soldiers were in the next room.  Carefully, while they were occupied with rummaging around in his secret stash, he lifted the loose floor tile that hid his most prized possessions.  It wasn’t much, all things told; the entire box fit into his sidebag.

There was a shout.

He scrambled over the bed, making a made dash through the house.  So many soldiers, so many hands grabbing for him all at once as he slipped past them through the maze of secret doors, it seemed to Paul it was magic or trickery.

But two could play at that game, and he could play at both.

Palming a warp stone from a hidden pocket, he vanished as a particularly burly guard made a lunge for him, reappearing outside only to disappear into the night.

***

An envoy arrived ahead of him in every city and every provincial town.  Or, more than likely, Hilda had sent one to each town, all at once.  It was almost flattering how she was spreading her forces rather thin to find one silly little thief.

They almost caught him on the coast.  Good effort, but he slipped their pursuit in the imports market, and made a blind escape down the last pier in the line of docks.  It was the biggest boat in port, it had to be going somewhere.

Making a running jump, he landed on the hull, his spikes deeply sunken into the wood. 

With a forlorn sigh and a triumphant grin, he waved Fynn goodbye.

He’d be back someday.

When the Queen had come to her senses.

 _Maybe_.

Paul slipped aboard, stowing himself below decks.

***

The problem with ships, even at this size, was that they were small, cramped, and yet packed with as many people as could fit aboard.

And everybody knew everybody else.

Caught trying to pilfer himself an early dinner, Paul was dragged up above decks between two burly men.  The overall lack of insignia suggested pirates, and once his eyes adjusted to the late afternoon sunlight, he thought that maybe he’d met the guy on his left, leaving him hopeful that it wasn’t a bad acquaintance.  Or that the other guy didn’t remember him.

They were well out of port, and there was no sign of pursuit.  That was good.

They held him up for inspection, and his heart sank.

But, at the very least, he knew he wasn’t going to be thrown overboard.

“Leila.”  Paul put on his brightest and most charming smile.  “If I’d know this was your ship, I’d’ve brought a gift.”

“Always the thoughtful type, aren’t we?”

Her smile was sharper.  More cunning, less charm.  She knew she had him.  What she didn’t know was what he had.

The pirates who were holding him took turns patting him down.  One found his sidebag under his cloak, cut the strap, and handed it to Leila.  She slipped the ornate puzzlebox free; turning it in her hands, this way and that, she examined the craftwork.

“You’re wasting your time, beautiful,” Paul warned her.  “Nobody but me can open that, you may as well give it ba-”

His keepsakes scattered across the deck.

“Ah.”

Daintily, the pirate captain picked up the locket by her boot, and examined it as it dangled from its chain.

“My then, you _were_ a hurry to get somewhere,” she observed.

Smile barely waning, Paul gave a noncommittal toss of his head.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Kashuan royal jewels going missing the night of Hilda’s wedding, would it?”

“Come now, it’s not like I stole the royal jewels that _mattered_.”

Leila shook the empty bag, and let it drop.  The box followed it.  The locket spun around her knuckles, first one direction, then back the other.  She eyed one of her men above Paul’s head.

“Well?”

The pirates holding him glanced at one another.  Then at the bag, and the treasure at her feet.  They hadn’t found anything else on him.  Paul shrugged, helpless.

“ _Men_ ,” Leila scoffed, rolling her eyes.

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them.  Paul fidgeted, mouth moving in a silent oath, and avoided her gaze as she slipped her hand directly down the front of his trousers.

Was it _really_ his fault if no one ever thought to look there?

She pulled the royal treasure free.  The crown jewels glittered with the intensity of the sun’s fire.

Paul cleared his throat.  Twice, as his voice seemed a bit stuck.

“Well then, now that you’ve stolen everything I have,” he ventured cheerfully, “what, may I ask, do you plan on doing with me?”

Leila smirked, leaving him in the grip of her men as she made her way towards the captain’s cabin, a victorious strut in her step.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

**Author's Note:**

> I... don't even know where this came from, but I hope you enjoy it. Happy Yuletide! :)


End file.
